


Winds Change

by naomichomsky



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 04:22:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19738228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naomichomsky/pseuds/naomichomsky
Summary: 5 times Maccready noticed the enigmatic Courier 6  - and one time she noticed him





	Winds Change

Winlock and Barnes, those muscle-headed idiots, had come to the Third Rail to once again threaten Maccready. They had him cornered in his “office”, the VIP lounge in the Third Rail that Hancock agreed to let him use in exchange for any services the Mayor may want should the need arise, going on and on about how they didn’t take kindly to him taking jobs on Gunner turf, how they would bash his skull in if he kept working here, make him wish he had never even set foot in the ‘Wealth – the same old drivel. Maccready rolled his eyes inwardly. _Whatever_. The Commonwealth was huge, and though Winlock and Barnes struck an imposing figure, they weren’t exactly known for their brains. They wouldn’t ever know about the jobs Maccready took as long as he started being sly about it, maybe just a bit more careful. And, quite frankly, the sniper didn’t care if he pissed off the Gunners. He was about to retort to their threats – something smartass, probably, that would have no doubt earned him a beating – when he noticed activity by the entrance.

A man in a vault suit wandered in, looking around the room with a dumb expression. The newcomer had a pistol strapped to his hip, but more intriguingly had a rusted machete attached to his back. The man took in the scene before him, eyes darting between the Gunners and the merc, before a hard expression settled on his face as he stared at Winlock and Barnes. Maccready noticed with a sinking feeling in his gut as the man’s hands twitched, going for the machete on his back. _Oh Fuck – shit, I mean – UGH_. This psycho couldn’t just kill the Gunners in Maccready’s office! Then the entire company would be after him, for real this time, not just showing up every so often to issue lazy and empty threats.

Maccready clapped his hands together, once and loudly, startling enough to draw all attention to himself. He then put his hands up placatingly, adopting a more submissive posture.

“Okay okay, jeez, I get it! No jobs in Gunner territory anymore or else you’ll break my limbs or something. Understood. Crystal clear. Now,” he all but shoved Winlock and Barnes towards the door. “I need to speak with my associate here, so time to go.”

“We have eyes on you, Maccready. Don’t fuck up,” Winlock growled.

Barnes shot him one last glare, then the two men stormed out of the lounge.

The merc slumped down onto the couch, tension draining out of him as the threat of the Gunners coming down on him was averted – for the time being. Now he could focus on whoever the hell had just come into his office and nearly caused a disaster.

Turns out the man, Nate, needed a hired gun to watch his back as he crawled through the Commonwealth. He was cagey about specifics but hadn’t even blinked when Maccready named his price. He simply handed over the bag of caps, never stopping for a breath as he rambled on about needing “eyes in the sky” to take out enemies long range while he cut them down close up. And just, _what?_ But the sniper saw an opportunity to rake in caps and milk this guy for everything he was worth, and he wasn’t stupid enough to turn his nose up at the job just because the vaultie was…weird.

Maccready was grabbing his duffel, listening to Nate brief him on their most immediate job. It was something involving recreating a character from an old, pre-war radio program to send a message to the evil-doers of Goodneighbor. He didn’t really care much for morality, but was on board as long as he got to shoot someone and make caps doing so. He was throwing the last of his ammo packs into the bag when , yet again, he caught movement by the door in his periphery. He raised his gaze to the newcomer, ready to simply tell him to _fuck off_ – _shit_ , he meant buzz off – as he wasn’t for hire anymore, but the words immediately died in his throat.

The figure in the door stood half-shadowed in the entryway, surveying the room. _A woman_ , Maccready’s brain supplied unhelpfully. The sniper had seen a lot in his short life, and he certainly wasn’t green, even by wastelander standards, but he was fairly certain he had never seen anyone quite like her before.

She stood stall, a few inches taller than himself, even, but she slouched against the doorframe casually, as if she was here for a social visit. An amuse smirk played on her lips, chapped and cut, a scar bisecting her top lip towards the side. Her hair was stark white, a startling contrast against her obviously tanned and weather-worn skin, and was shorn so short on one side he could see the skin of her skull. The haircut allowed him to see an ugly, raised scar that began in the middle of her forehead and circled the top of her head nearly perfectly around. He couldn’t tell how far it went, as it disappeared under a wave of cascading locks on the other side. Her eyes were an inky black, nearly fathomless, and when she caught him staring she simply arched a brow, her smirk turning predatory as she bared her teeth. Her gaze slid to Nate, who hadn’t even noticed her arrival, the unaware idiot, then back to Maccready. She frowned slightly, unimpressed, but then simply shrugged, lifting a lit cigarette to her lips and taking a deep pull. He caught a glint of metal in the light, and could hardly believe it when he noticed that her heavily scarred hands were adorned in spiked, rusted knuckles. Who the hell just walked around wearing brass knuckles? He could just barely make out deep, violent slashes on her fingers underneath the metal. They looked almost like…letters, maybe? But he couldn’t exactly get a closer look to figure out what they spelled out. She was…brutal, was the first adjective that came to mind. Clearly dangerous. And definitely not from the Commonwealth. Her clothes betrayed her, in the end. She wore cowboy boots, for one, and a sun-bleached denim duster that nearly reached the floor. At some point she had torn off the sleeves, allowing him to take in her well-muscled but marked biceps. She was covered in tattoos, something that wasn’t common amongst wastelanders because of the high risk of infection. So this woman either was competent with medicine, or knew a doctor, he wagered. The thick vest she wore was emblazoned with the letters SLCPD SWAT across the chest – some kind of bulletproof vest maybe? It was from nowhere he had heard of, though, to be sure.

Maccready was so wrapped up in taking her in he had missed her flicking her cigarette towards Nate. The butt bounced off the vault dweller’s head, finally grabbing his attention. The man turned sharply, reaching for his machete, but the woman was faster, nearly vanishing into the shadows.

“What the hell?” Nate muttered, rubbing the spot he had been hit. But Maccready’s gaze narrowed in on an object inserted into one of the door’s hinges, made apparent by the woman’s departure. He crossed the distance to the door in two strides, snatching the item from the doorjamb. It was a simple playing card from somewhere called the Sierra Madre. He turned it over in his deft fingers. There was no note, no phrase, not even a name. It was just a Six of Spades. He looked down the darkened corridor but was unsurprised to find it empty. The woman was gone.


End file.
